We manage to score two goals during the power play, which ties the game. I glance up at the clock as I head for the bench when I see the asshat in the sin bin return to his box once the penalty is over. There’s two minutes left.
I witness some shit while I sit on the bench and silently fume. Felton drops into a crouch, glove and stick on the ground, poised as another player I’m not familiar with comes to a stop in front of him, spraying him with powder.
For his part, Felton is unphased. Honestly, I doubt he even realized it happened. The man is in the zone. Before anotherfight can break out over it, Anaheim’s captain shoves their player away. I’m not sure what’s up with Anaheim tonight, but every time Felton makes a save, Anaheim is furious.
Felton is sitting on the puck, holding it while the refs break up the fight. Eventually, he gets up, bringing the puck with him. He swings around his goal, balancing the puck on his stick as he looks through the boards.
There’s a kid there, maybe eight or ten, jumping. Felton nods, eyes the top and the net as he gets ready to toss it up when fucking Imonovich skates by and swipes it from his stick.
Felton turns and follows, but Imonovich tosses the puck aside as Denny and Dasan gently push Felton back.
I’ll tell you what, the most rewarding moment of the game is the score we get on Gibbon with thirty-three seconds left. Anaheim is pissed, but their goalie at least just shrugs it off. At least someone over there knows that it’s not personal.
The last thirty-three seconds is our team playing keep away. We aren’t necessarily trying for another goal but just trying to keep the puck in our possession as we stay in Anaheim’s zone. When the buzzer sounds, our team turns away from a furious Anaheim.
“They weren’t like that last year,” Denny says at my side as I get to my feet.
“They have a new coach,” Nason Jordan says. “I’m not sure if it’s his playing style or his lack of control over the team, but yeah. Something is up with them. They’re getting Tampa ugly.”
“We don’t play them again for a while, do we?” Denny asks.
“I don’t think we play them at all unless they make the playoffs,” I say, trying to recall the schedule. I don’t memorize all eighty-odd games, but Anaheim isn’t in our division, so we generally only play them once or twice in the regular season.
“Good. I’d like to smash that asshole’s face into the ice,” Willits says.
Felton is just going through the boards to the chute, and I pause to watch as he stops at the side where there’s a kid on the bench holding an orange Anaheim jersey. Felton, with his helmet pushed up on his head like a hat, says something and the kid grins hugely and nods. He points to the ice and says something, making Felton laugh. Felton hands him his stick and the boy bursts into tears as he throws his arms around Felton’s neck.
A man who I presume is the kid’s father stands behind him with a smile.
Felton winks at the kid before moving down the chute. As I walk by, the kid is wiping his eyes and saying, “He’s the nicest player ever.”
My teammates and I share a smile as we follow Felton down the chute.
“What’d he say?” Marion asks as he pulls his jersey over his head. “The kid.”
“I asked if he saw my last save,” Felton says as he drops to the bench. “He nodded. Then he said the other team was crummy because they hit me with their sticks.”
I grin.
“It’s really sad when a little boy knows the team he’s here to see is playing dirty,” Dasan says.
No doubt about that.
Coach talks to us about the game and follows up as we strip off our gear. We’re up in L.A. in two days, so we’re not even switching hotels. I’m only half listening as my stomach growls. Didn’t I eat before I got here?
I’m only aware Coach has left the locker room when Zenia asks, “Wanna go out tonight?”
While I know he’s not code-wording for a gang bang since Carson and Kroy aren’t here, that’s still code for he’s looking to hook up and wants wingmen.
“Actually, I’m famished for some reason,” I say. “I’m going to grab some food and go to bed. You two are on your own tonight.”
“Lame,” he and Denny chime together.
The whole team is on the bus an hour later and heading back to the hotel. Because of the time, I settle for getting food in the hotel restaurant. As I’m eating at a table, I watch Felton wander through the lobby.
He’s on the phone and doesn’t look happy. His shoulders are tense and his lips are pressed into a line. He paces back and forth, never speaking at all. When he hangs up, he stops moving and lets his head fall backward as his chest fills, taking a deep breath.
Then he heads for the elevator and disappears from sight.
